


Never Let Me Go

by colonel_bastard



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Emotions, Intense, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Orgasm Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: The light is too heavenly and Orm is too lovely. Arthur can’t let him sleep anymore.A quiet morning in the lighthouse.





	Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> for [brodinsons](https://twitter.com/brodinsons). thanks for the prompt and for getting me into this mess in the first place.
> 
> title is taken from [the florence + the machine song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMBTvuUlm98) of the same name.

-

-

-

Arthur wakes with the sunrise. He’s always sensitive to it when he’s been underwater for too long, spending all those weeks so deep beneath the surface that day and night become little more than concepts. Down there, the light is beautiful, but the light never changes. Up here Arthur closes his eyes in darkness and opens them in the faint, unmistakable glow of dawn. He blinks drowsily at the ceiling, sprawled on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped comfortably over his belly. Another hour and the light will look completely different. Right now it’s perfect, rosy and promising, coaxing him out of sleep like a caress. God, he loves waking up in the lighthouse. 

Beside him, Orm is still deep in slumber, his breathing heavy and slow. Arthur looks over to see him on his belly, the pillow hugged in both arms and his face turned away, trusting Arthur with his back even in his sleep. In the early morning light his pale hair is shot through with gold, the muscled curve of his shoulders gently outlined in shadow. They never sleep with a stitch of clothing between them, preferring always to be skin to skin. Arthur’s eyes trace the arc of Orm’s bare back down to the point where the blanket hides the rest of him from view. Crazy how he still manages to look elegant even when he’s just lying there; like the water really is a part of him, his body imbued with natural grace.

Moving slow so he won’t wake him, Arthur shifts onto his side and props himself on his elbow, leaning over so he can get a look at Orm’s face. Too often his brow is furrowed when he sleeps, his dreams troubled, his rest made restless. Arthur is relieved, then, when he sees that Orm’s expression is peaceful, his face nestled contentedly into the comforting embrace of the pillow. He used to be so reluctant to spend nights on the surface. These days they both know that he sleeps better here than anywhere else. In fact, this particular visit was at his own request— the first time he’s ever done so. Arthur was so moved that he could barely manage to stammer his agreement. 

Sometimes he can’t believe they’ve come so far. 

The light is too heavenly and Orm is too lovely. Arthur can’t let him sleep anymore. Tucking his dark hair back over his shoulder, he reaches across the span of Orm’s body and carefully plants his hand on the opposite side of the mattress, supporting his weight so he can lean down to press a kiss to his brother’s temple. Orm stirs faintly but doesn’t wake, though his head does turn subtly towards Arthur’s touch. Insistent, Arthur nuzzles into his hair, his lips brushing over the shell of Orm’s ear. Fuck, he smells good.

All at once Orm bolts awake fast, too fast, his body jerked in a startled gasp, his eyes wide open in an instant. Right away Arthur eases up off him, leaning his weight back over onto his side so Orm doesn’t feel trapped. 

“Hey,” he says, low and soothing. “You’re okay. It’s just me.” 

Orm twists all the way back to look over his shoulder— at which point his confusion immediately dissolves, his voice thick with recognition.

“Arthur.” 

Slumping in relief, he twists back the other way so he can settle his head on the pillow again, this time with his face turned towards his brother. Arthur reclines beside him, his arm coming to rest over Orm’s back. The subsequent wave of comfort sends Orm crashing down from his initial rush of panic, slingshotting him back into a dazed kind of drowsiness that leaves his eyes heavy and half-lidded, like his body just remembered that it was supposed to be barely awake. Arthur smiles and rubs his thumb in reassuring circles against Orm’s skin. 

“Morning, little brother.” 

Orm smiles back, groggy and affectionate. “My king.” 

Completely disarmed, Arthur dips down to kiss his forehead, his hand drifting up to curl around the nape of Orm’s neck. Orm sighs and leans into it, his arms tightening around the pillow in response. When Arthur takes his lips away, he presses their brows together— along with the rest of them, scooting his body closer until they’re connected almost entirely from ankle to shoulder. Orm’s skin is so, so warm under the blankets. 

“God,” Arthur murmurs, breathing him in. “You are gorgeous.” 

Orm flushes with pleasure, momentarily too flustered to respond. Then, by way of wordless reply, he angles his mouth towards Arthur’s in an open invitation. Arthur is all too glad to oblige, covering that mouth in a kiss that makes his brother hum with satisfaction. Encouraged, Arthur plants his arm over him again, shifting his weight forward so that Orm is partially pinned underneath him. Still on his belly, Orm has to crane his head back to keep the kiss from being broken, his neck strained to an exquisite angle, his next breath coming in a plaintive, needy whine. The sound goes straight to Arthur’s cock, already half hard and wedged against Orm’s thigh. Orm leans into that, too.

Shifting again, Arthur braces himself on that planted hand so he can bring the other up to Orm’s bared throat, catching his jaw to hold him in the kiss. Orm rises to meet him, fumbling one arm loose from the pillow to anchor his palm against the headboard, pushing himself up towards Arthur’s mouth. Their bodies have begun to sway together in a deliberate rhythm. All around them, at a pace too subtle to perceive, the room grows brighter by delicate degrees.

Under the covers, Arthur nudges his hip against Orm’s, aching to get closer. The pressure makes Orm twist his spine almost to the breaking point, stretching back into the kiss before he’s finally forced to tear his mouth away and drop his head forward onto the pillow, his shoulders arched up in welcome. 

“Brother,” he gasps. “Please.”

He’s offering his back, urging Arthur to mount him. Arthur doesn’t need to be asked twice. Without hesitation he swings his leg over Orm’s, pulling himself up over his body and settling his weight on top of him in one heavy, fluid motion. Orm groans as Arthur’s broad chest presses down on the span of his shoulders, Arthur’s cock now wedged in the cleft of Orm’s ass, the head of it rubbing against the small of his back. One hand braced on the mattress, Arthur pushes the other into Orm’s hair, steering his head to an angle that lays the curve of his neck bare. There’s an undeniable pang when Orm yields to him completely, all too willing to expose the throat that he once offered to Arthur at trident-point. 

He arches like a bow when Arthur nuzzles at the juncture of his shoulder, his teeth grazing against the skin like fingertips skimming over the surface of the water. It makes Orm shudder, his breath quickening in anticipation, bracing himself for the bite that Arthur tends to deliver to that very spot— something he did once in a blind heat, only to discover that it’s a really easy way to get Orm whipped into a total frenzy. _Dominance. Claiming. Rough handling._ These are a few of his favorite things— and yeah, it turns out those are some of Arthur’s, too.

But it’s not that kind of morning. The light is so soft, and Orm is so languid and pliant, his body still heavy with the vestiges of sleep. Arthur wants to keep him that way as long as he can, all dozy and calm and quiet— so he gentles him down with a kiss instead, pressing his mouth decisively into the crook of Orm’s neck. Connected as they are, Arthur can feel the expectant tension draining out of every part of him, Orm allowing himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering to Arthur’s touch. Arthur relaxes his grip in the tousled pale hair, carding his fingers through it instead, stroking Orm’s head as he kisses up the side of his throat, his teeth nipping lightly at the corner of that stubborn jaw. 

“You know I’m yours,” he rumbles. “Right, little brother?”

Orm squeezes his eyes shut, a shiver running through him from head to toe. 

“Until the end,” he chokes out. “Yes. I know.” 

“Good.” Arthur nips him again. “Because I definitely know you’re mine.”

A gasp of affirmation tears out of Orm’s chest, his face buried in the pillow to muffle the sound as Arthur bears down on him, rolling his hips in a motion that sets their joined bodies rocking together like a ship on the open sea. He can feel Orm squirming his hips underneath him, rubbing his cock into the sheets, the friction maximized by Arthur’s weight. He loves having Arthur on top of him like this. It did surprise him at first, how heavy Arthur was out of the water— taller, too, than Orm must have realized, judging from the subtle flare of his eyes the first time they stood face to face on dry land, with all their armor and illusions stripped away. Not that Orm isn’t a big fish himself. It’s just that Arthur is bigger— and it didn’t take Orm long to figure out that he really, really liked that. 

Right on cue, Arthur hears a long, low moan being smothered in the pillow below him. It makes him laugh, a rough chuckle as he closes his fist in Orm’s hair and gives a light, scolding tug. 

“Aww, c’mon, buddy. Don’t be shy.” He mouths at one pale shoulder. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

With one last muffled “ _mmf_ ,” Orm turns his head to the side, his face angled towards Arthur’s. 

“I was thinking,” he pants. “How dear it was— to wake with you beside me.” 

Arthur makes a weak, fractured sound in the back of his throat, trying not to wince as his heart takes a flying leap at his ribcage, a desperate attempt to crawl into Orm’s chest and collide with the heart beating inside of it. Sometimes it seems like that’s the only way he could ever begin to feel close enough. Fumbling for the next best thing, he slips an arm across Orm’s chest, pulling Orm back against him even as Arthur leans into the embrace, his whole body pressed over his brother’s like a suit of armor. This time there’s nothing to obscure Orm’s deep, resonant groan, his mouth directed shamelessly into Arthur’s ear, making damn sure he hears every satisfied second of it. 

“ _Ah_ —” he gasps. “Arthur— _brother_ —”

Riled beyond words, Arthur growls and ruts against him, leaving generous smears of precome at the base of Orm’s arched spine, his cock rubbing insistently in the crease of his ass. God, he wants to fuck him. And judging by the pleading way Orm is starting to buck his hips, he really wants to get fucked. If Arthur was in the right mood, he’d be all too happy to spend a small eon working Orm open with his fingers and tongue, making it last until his brother was literally begging for him— but wow, that’s a lot of work, and it’s so early in the morning, and he hasn’t even had his coffee yet. 

“Hang on,” he murmurs, kissing the back of Orm’s head. 

With a stir of effort, he pushes himself up on his hands and crawls halfway off of him, their legs still tangled even as Arthur reaches towards the nightstand. As soon as he goes, Orm automatically starts to follow, mumbling in protest at being abandoned. He’s already up on his elbows when Arthur reaches back to plant a big, firm hand between his shoulder blades.

“Nope. Stay down.”

He presses and Orm collapses like a sand castle at high tide, crumpling to the mattress in a content, submissive heap. He lies there obediently as Arthur leans towards the nightstand to grab the bottle of hand lotion that always gets left there. It’s… kind of an inside joke.

See, when one Arthur Curry was a dumb punk kid, he would keep just such a bottle sitting right there, out in the open— and he used to think he was _so smooth_ for loudly explaining that he needed it because _his Atlantean side meant that his skin got extra dry at night._

Man, he so clearly remembers feeling like he was really getting away with something. And god bless Tom Curry, patron saint of patient fathers, for letting him think that.

Well, when he was a dumb punk kid, anyway. Once he was grown, Pops waited for the perfect moment to drop the ole “remember how you used to think I believed that hand lotion by your bed was for your dry Atlantean skin.” Shaking his head as Arthur choked on his beer. “Extra dry at night. I’ll bet you thought that was pretty clever, didn’t you?” 

Now, ever since, whenever Arthur comes home to visit, there’s always a bottle left on the nightstand. _Cute, old man. Real cute._

And, well, really convenient. 

Arthur snags the bottle and gets back on top of Orm before he has a chance to miss him. His heart skips a beat when Orm sighs in relief, his eyes closed, trusting whatever comes next. Propping himself on his left hand, Arthur pumps a few shots of lotion into his right, then reaches down between them. 

“Sorry if it’s cold,” he mumbles. “I’ll warm it up quick, I promise.” 

Slow and careful, he slides his fingers under Orm’s ass and into the space between his trembling thighs. Right away Orm gasps and instinctively clenches around him, nodding his head as he realizes what Arthur is planning to do. 

“ _Mmmf_ —” He hugs the pillow to his chest. “Yes, Arthur— yes—”

He whines and shudders as Arthur paints a generous coat of lotion between his legs, only pausing to grab a few more pumps from the bottle. True to his word, he warms it with friction, pushing his fingers back and forth until Orm is writhing. 

“Ah—” He jerks his hips in anguish. “Please— _hnnh_ —”

Arthur leans back just long enough to run a slick hand over his length in preparation. Then he crowds back against his brother, his open mouth pressed to the nape of Orm’s neck as he pushes his cock into the snug clench of Orm’s thighs. Between his legs, Arthur feels Orm immediately cross his ankles together, squeezing Arthur with warmth. Arthur exhales into his hair, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. 

“Jesus, fuck—” he wheezes. “God, that’s tight.” 

Orm makes a smug sound of victory, a sound that cracks into a moan as Arthur sinks his hips into a heavy, slow thrust that rubs his cock at the back of Orm’s balls, his weight driving Orm’s own aching hard-on deeper into the mattress. For a long moment they just stay there, bodies clenched together, taut and shaking. Then Arthur thrusts again and Orm has to shove his face down into the pillow to stifle a ragged cry. Arthur smirks and nuzzles roughly at the strained curve of his throat. 

“Better keep quiet, baby bro. Don’t wanna wake the folks.” 

“Perhaps you should have considered that,” Orm pants. “When you woke me with a kiss.” 

The only answer to that, obviously, is another kiss, Arthur leaning in to nip at the corner of Orm’s mouth until Orm finally turns his head to meet him, his lips already parted to accept Arthur’s eager tongue. Arthur kisses him hard enough to bruise, until Orm’s mouth is flushed and swollen, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. Then Arthur presses their foreheads together, his hand cradling Orm’s face. 

“You wanna know something?” he says. “I couldn’t help it.” 

It’s the corniest possible thing to say and yet it’s the most honest he’s ever been in his life. He wishes he knew how to explain it. Shaking his head in frustration, he presses on, fumbling for words.

“It’s just— I saw you there and I thought— you just looked so—” He drives his brow against his brother’s, desperate to make him understand. “It’s _you_ , okay?”

Orm stares back at him, breathing hard. Arthur feels like a fist is slowly tightening around his throat and he has to race to get the words out before it’s too late. His voice is hoarse and helpless.

“It’s you.” He digs his forehead against Orm’s. “You are _it_ for me. I need you to know that. You’re mine, I’m yours, all of it. Okay? I mean it.” His voice cracks. “God, I just— I need you to know how much I love you.”

That’s it. His throat closes in a knot and he can barely breathe, his head spinning and his pulse roaring in his ears. He makes a strangled sound of dismay when Orm tugs his face out of his grip— but Orm’s just dropping his head down so he can reach back with his hand instead, his fingers groping blindly until they bury themselves in the tangle of Arthur’s hair. Then he twists his face against the pillow, his mouth turned towards the air like a surface marathon swimmer, his words clear and unmistakable. 

“If love is the only word we have,” he says. “Then it will have to be enough.” He twines his grip in his brother’s dark mane. “I love you, Arthur. Body and soul. Let the gods themselves try to take me from your side.” 

Arthur gulps back a weird hiccup of a sob, and for a second, he could swear they were underwater, he feels so weightless and free. 

“Fuckin’ A, man,” he laughs weakly. “I love it when you go full Shakespeare.” 

Orm furrows his brow. “Who is Shakes— _ah_ —”

He clips off into a gasp when Arthur pushes down between his thighs, letting gravity and his own weight do most of the work. Instantly Orm tightens his ankles, his powerful legs coiling around Arthur in encouragement, drawing him even deeper while Arthur groans with pleasure. He’s pressed completely along the length of Orm’s body now, flattening him against the mattress while Orm huffs and trembles underneath him. He doesn’t try to jerk or thrust his hips. He just holds Arthur between his legs and keeps his fist clenched in that dark hair, his eyes closed in bliss. 

Arthur doesn’t even want to move. It feels so good to be here like this — just like this — time stopped on a dime while they hover at the precipice together, inextricably bound. There’s only one thing that could make this better, and shit, Arthur doesn’t know why he didn’t do it sooner. Reaching for the bottle of lotion with one hand, he fumbles a few clumsy shots into his palm and hastily wriggles his fingers together to spread it around. Then he eases up his weight just enough to scoot that hand in between Orm’s belly and the mattress, sliding his grip around his brother’s cock and squeezing tight. Once again Orm is forced to wrench his face down into the pillow to catch a plaintive cry, his fist yanking on Arthur’s hair in a convulsive spasm. 

“Yeah,” Arthur breathes into his ear. “I got you, little brother.” 

He shifts his grip upwards until he can rub the pad of his thumb against the swollen head, where he finds a slick mess of precome that makes him growl with approval. The sound is a deep bass rumble that finds a harmony in the tremulous tenor of Orm’s aching, eager gasp, his hips thrusting shallowly into Arthur’s fist. Arthur snakes his other hand up under the pillow, finds Orm’s, and threads their fingers together. Orm clutches onto him like his life depends on it. 

“Arthur,” he rasps, shuddering from the strain. “Please— _hnh_ — _ah_ —”

“Shhh,” Arthur murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Shhh.” 

After a few more weakening spasms, Orm finally grows still underneath him, his breathing shaky and thin. Now he’s waiting for Arthur to make the next move. Arthur rewards him with a long, slow pull on his cock, his knuckles grinding relentlessly against the sheets below them. It almost sends Orm right back into a squirming frenzy, but he’s canny enough to have figured out Arthur’s game and he forces himself to stay down, even though Arthur can feel the tremor in his hands, his lungs hitching for air.

“Good,” Arthur hums, pressing kisses into his damp hair. “That’s good.”

He rocks his hips, subtle and slow, his cock pressed deliberately against the underside of Orm’s balls. Orm pants and squeezes his hand and holds so very still, his eyes screwed shut with effort. Arthur can feel his own orgasm building in the distance, like the first ripples of a tidal wave. He wonders if he can make Orm come too, just holding him like this, the shockwave split between them. 

“Hey,” he whispers to him. “Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” 

Orm nods, his breathing shallow and rapid, his body stretched to its limit. Arthur shifts his weight, pushing inexorably into him until Orm lets out a strangled whimper, clutching Arthur’s hand in one white-knuckled grip while his other hand slams against the headboard, bracing himself against the desperate instinct to buck his hips. They cling together, close, so close, Orm’s cock twitching and jerking against Arthur’s palm, his back trembling under Arthur’s chest. 

“Come on, baby,” Arthur pants. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Ohhh, Arthur, please—” Orm rubs his face against the pillowcase, right at the edge of breaking. “Please— _mercy_ —”

The word pierces Arthur like an arrow, a bolt of amazement quickly followed by a jumbled surge of emotion that he can’t quite describe. It’s just that it wasn’t even that long ago when Orm would have sneered at the very concept— and here he’s asking for it freely, his voice raw with unmistakable longing, without a trace of shame. Before Arthur came along, he didn’t even believe himself capable of accepting such grace. And the thing is, before Orm, Arthur wasn’t even sure if he was capable of giving it. Now it comes rushing out of him in waves, a fountain of forgiveness and understanding that starts with the word _mercy_ and doesn’t stop until it reaches the horizon and beyond. 

_Let the gods themselves try to take me from your side._

“Okay,” Arthur rumbles in his brother’s ear. “Let’s go. Together.” 

It happens almost the moment he gives the command, Orm’s cock jumping in his fist, his cry of release caught not in the pillow but between his bared teeth, his head thrown back in a quavering, keening whine. The clench of his body is enough to pull Arthur over the edge with him, and he buries his face in the crook of Orm’s neck as he comes between his legs, their hips jerking together in a staggered counterpoint rhythm. They hold on through the tsunami-level aftershocks, riding it out until they’re spent and heaving. By the time the wave recedes they’re both too dazed to do anything except collapse in a heap, Orm on his belly and Arthur draped over him like a woozy, fucked-out security blanket, his pulse roaring in his ears, as loud as the tide. 

He can’t believe that actually just happened. He told Orm to come and Orm just... _did_. Now _that_ — that is some next-level shit right there. 

“Fuck, that was good.” Arthur nuzzles at Orm’s mussed hair, dizzy with affection. “Mmm, baby, you did so _good_. Ugh, you’re incredible.” 

Orm shudders at the praise, releasing his hold on the headboard so he can tuck his exhausted arm back under the pillow again, cradling it against his face while his other hand remains clasped in Arthur’s steady grip. Arthur mirrors the action, keeping the one hand clasped while the other releases its hold on Orm’s cock, freeing him to draw his arm out from underneath them and surreptitiously wipe his palm on the sheets. He makes at least some effort to get the worst of the mess off before he starts petting Orm’s hair. Below him, Orm settles like a shipwreck, his body totally at rest on the ocean floor, Arthur surrounding him like the sea. He shivers when Arthur presses a kiss to the back of his neck— the first of many, his mouth laying a trail down the slope of Orm’s shoulder, making damn sure to stake every inch of his claim. 

“Arthur,” Orm sighs, his eyes closed. “My Arthur.” 

“Right here, little brother,” Arthur murmurs against his skin. “I’m right here.” 

Under the last remaining cover of the blankets, he traces one foot up and down the curve of Orm’s calf, the strokes slow and soothing. He doesn’t want Orm to move a muscle. He just wants him to lie there and let Arthur worship him, covering his body with kisses and whispers and all the gentle touches that he’s needed for so long. There’s no hurry. Arthur nuzzles and adores him in contented silence, until the room around them reaches the full brightness of morning and Orm is so relaxed that he’s halfway back to sleep. 

It would be so easy to stay here all day. That’s why, when there’s even the tiniest nudge from the outside world, Arthur has to seize onto it while he still can, before he loses track of that world completely.

“Hey,” he says, forcing himself to lift his head. “You smell that?”

“I smell you,” Orm says, eyes still shut. “Don’t worry, it’s not entirely unpleasant.” 

Arthur gives his hair a punitive tousle. “Har har. Also, I was talking about the bacon.” 

Suddenly alert, Orm’s eyes dart open, half-confused and half-intrigued. He knows that’s a type of meat, but Arthur can see from the vague narrowing of his gaze that he can’t remember which one. 

“Y’know, the long, skinny stuff,” Arthur prompts. “Fried. Crispy. Comes from pigs.” 

Orm gives the air a cautious sniff, followed shortly by a deep, lusty inhale. Now he’s waking up again, raising his head from the pillow, his body flexing under Arthur’s weight. 

“I smell it,” he confirms, as if Arthur couldn’t tell from the look on his face. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Mom must be cooking breakfast.” He gives their joined hands one last squeeze. “You ready to get up?”

But Orm’s already pushing against him, arching in protest until Arthur has to roll off and give him room to rise. He sprawls over onto his back as Orm clambers up and out of bed, settling his bare feet on the floor and raising his arms in a leisurely stretch, his lithe, naked body painted gold by the sunlight. Arthur tucks his hands behind his head and studies him with a smile. 

“Yep,” he says. “You are definitely gonna need a shower.” 

Orm lowers his arms with an irritated glance. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Dude, you look like someone broke a glow stick over your dick.” Arthur smirks and gestures at his stomach and groin. “I mean, I know you’re used to the sea carrying your mess away, but damn, you’re a mess.” He gives a sheepish cough. “Also, uh, you need to wash your hair. Sorry.” 

On instinct Orm touches his head, his fingers instantly finding the sticky traces of bioluminescent Atlantean jizz that Arthur might not have wiped off as well as he could. He gives Arthur a look that says he’s not mad, just disappointed. 

“Well,” he huffs. “I suppose that means we both need to bathe.”

When Arthur glances down at himself to check for a visible mess, Orm clarifies with a smirk of his own. 

“I lied. You smell terrible.” 

Arthur laughs and chucks a pillow at him. “You little shit!” 

Still laughing, he flops onto the bed again, figuring that he’ll let his brother have first dibs on the bathroom. He jolts when Orm throws the pillow back at him with an audible whump. 

“Agh!” Arthur sits up indignantly. “What?” 

Hands on his hips, Orm tosses his head in a beckoning gesture. 

“Come on, then. No sense wasting the water on two separate showers.” 

“Oh hell yeah,” Arthur grins as he gets up to join him. “Let’s go save the earth.” 

 

 

 

 

_______________end.


End file.
